


Accidents Happen

by MigrantMayhem



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Car Accidents, Concerned Kidnapping, Gen, Swearing, or kidnapping performed out of concern for your own wellbeing, sans being irresponsible, some bullshit i wrote as a dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-23 04:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23605513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MigrantMayhem/pseuds/MigrantMayhem
Summary: You’re just having a nice little snooze when your window breaks. And a skeleton rolls in. And now you don’t know what to do.I told my sibling i wanted to start an AO3 account with no rules or regulations or quality standards so I could write and post anything without feeling bad, and asked them for a request, that I'd write anything, even the most ridiculous stuff.They said "Anything?"I said "Yeah hit me with it.""Sans breaks in your window at 3am asmr."and here we are.
Comments: 7
Kudos: 17





	Accidents Happen

A horn blares.

Lights dance on the back of your eyelids.

And then  _ an actual fucking truck runs through your fucking wall. _

You gasp, sputtering, leaping out of your dreams and into your worst nightmares. It’s a good thing there’s nothing valuable on that wall because, like you mentioned,  _ it’s been replaced by a fucking truck _ . Your heart hammers painfully against your sternum, your arms shaking as they support your weight, too weak to hold you up but too stiff to let you lay back down on the bed. You mindlessly observe the way the glass reflects the light of the headlights, and stare blankly into the driver’s seat.

The driver’s door opens, scratching more of the plaster of the wall off and onto your dingy, sixties-style carpet.

“ Ah shit… ” the driver says, still obscured by the door and the white spots from the headlights, “ I really blew it this time, huh…? Heh heh. ”

He ‘heh’ed nervously, in comic sans. You suppose you were scared shitless enough to  _ hear  _ comic sans, huh?

Apparently, after that moment the whole terror of the event catches up with you, and you start hyperventilating before passing the fuck out.

You awake in an unfamiliar location. You weren’t harmed, but you have an awful crook in your neck. You open your eyes, head a little foggy after the oxygen deprivation.

“Ah, Good morning, sleeping beauty. How are you feeling? You weren’t hurt, were you?”

You sit up and stare at the skeleton. He grins sheepishly—or maybe it’s just the way his jaw sits—as glowing white orbs study you from where they sit in his sockets.

“First of all, it’s the middle of the damn night. Second of all, didn’t you  _ just crash into my FUCKING house? _ Third—” you break off to study your surroundings before confirming that, no, you are not in your house anymore, “— _ did you fucking KIDNAP me? _ ”

You growl. The skeleton rattles in his boots—uh, slippers?

“I-I mean, I couldn’t just leave you in that house all alone! You passed out, and there was a huge hole in the wall—!” he starts, teeth chattering with anxiety.

“Speaking of,  _ what the hell were you thinking?? _ ”

“Ah! I’m sorry, okay? There was a deer, I couldn’t kill a deer!”

“ _ YOU COULD HAVE KILLED ME! _ ”

“But,” he says, bones no longer rattling, that cocky glint in his eye— uh, socket, “I didn’t, therefore, it’s a win-win-win!”

You snarl, about to begin screaming again, but chew the inside of your lip instead. Sure, you can play this game with him. Whatever.

“...how is this a ‘win-win-win,’ pray tell.”

“Well,” He says, cheekily—zygomatically?—turning the corner. You can still see him: the stout skeleton is in basketball shorts, a fur-lined hoodie, and bunny slippers, standing in his kitchen in front of the microwave. “You live, the deer lives, and I get to live with a clean conscience! So yeah, a win-win-win!”

The microwave beeps. You stare, dumbfounded and infuriated, and can practically feel your face turning red with the boiling blood under your skin. “Also, it is the morning,” The skeleton continues, coming back into the room—his own living room, you assume due to the presence of a coffee table and the couch you were laying on—with a mug. “It’s exactly 3 in the morning, so good morning.”

“One mug of hot cocoa for  _ le madame _ ,” He sits the mug down in front of you, giving an exaggerated wink with eyelids you didn’t believe or needed to know he had. “Osteoporosis!”

You have to fight every fiber in your body not to take the hot cocoa and throw it in his face. The only thing stopping you is that it smells really fucking enticing for some swiss-miss-type microwave cocoa.

“I’m— oh my god. I can’t— this can’t—” You seethe, head falling into your hands. You rub your temples, thinking,  _ maybe if I press hard enough, I’ll die _ .

There’s a windy sigh. “Hey, I’m really sorry about your house. Whatever you need to cover the damages, consider it yours.”

You want to be bitter, but you can feel the guilt dripping off him like grease. But you aren’t just the kind to forgive and forget, either.

“Fine. I’ll need at least 5,000 dollars.”

“ _ W-What??” _

“At  _ least _ .”

“B-But-- can I give you 1,000 and buy you a coffee or something?”

“ _ What? _ Since  _ when  _ would $1,000 be reasonable?!”

“$2,000?”

“Five. Thousand. Up front.”

“H-How about $3,000 and I help you fix it? It’s way cheaper to DIY that kind of stuff, anyway!”

“I don’t see a contractor license in this house anywhere.”

“$3,500! Please! That’s all I can afford!” 

He’s rattling. And… looks like he’s sweating? How the fuck did he do that? It doesn’t matter. He was being honest. You can’t just rob the dude blind, but at the same time you were just barely making mortgage payments for that damn house.

You sigh.

“Alright, alright. Let’s do this. You’d better be damn reliable because I don’t exactly wanna call someone to fix it. So if we pool our assets, and I collect all my insurance money, we’ll fix it as cheaply as possible.”

The dude visibly and audibly rattles in relief.

You kinda do too. You just want this thing over with.

“I'll need $2,500 up front to buy materials. We can discuss further costs later.” You sigh and take a sip of cocoa. “This is really good, thank you,” you offer quietly.

“Hey, no problem. It's the least I could do.”

“Yeah, I'd say so,” you snark half-heartedly.

The two of you discuss plans to rebuild while you finish the mug.

You learn his name is Sans, and that he’s fairly experienced with building things—at least, more than the average Joe. He had been coming home from dropping off his little brother at a sleepover, and it was quite a drive—two hours both ways. You were going to ask why the hell his little brother was going to a sleepover at 1 in the morning but you aren't exactly in the mood to probe a random stranger about his, his brother's, and his friend's life choices.

You look at the clock. It’s a cat clock, which threw you for a loop at first, but it reads 4:06. You sigh.

“I need to go to work in 3 hours…”

“Aw, geez. Sorry, I won't keep you up much longer, then.”

“I'll need to get back to my place…”

“Hey, you rest up. I'll get you back to your place by 6:15, so you can be ready and out by 7. Hows that sound?”

You mull the thought over. It sounds pretty damn good to your sleep-deprived brain, so you nod.

“Alright. But you better be up.”

“Of course!” He says cheerily. “You can count on me!”

When you wake up, it’s 6:30.

You throw the throw blanket Sans gave you on the floor, almost tripping over the coffee table on your way down to the bedroom you saw Sans enter two and a half hours earlier. You bang loudly on the door.

“Hey!!  _ Hey!! _ ” You shout. You hear a thump and a rattle and a groan. You open the door to find Sans on the floor, groggily looking at his alarm clock.

“Ugh. Aw, shit.”

“C'mon!! I gotta go to work!!” You frantically remind him.

“I don't wanna…” He whines from the floor.

You throw a miscellaneous pair of pants at the skeleton. “Too bad! You’re the one who kidnapped me, so take me back to my fuckin house!”

He huffs before rolling out of his sheets and putting the sweatpants over his plaid boxers. How those even stay on his pelvis is a mystery to you, but there you are. He grabs his keys and rubs the sleep out of his—uh, sockets, you guess—and out the door you go.

There was dents, scratches, and plaster left on the hood of his otherwise older blue truck, and it looks like it had been through the mill even before it had acquainted itself with your house. 

You climb in the passenger’s side while the skeleton crawls clumsily into the driver’s. You’re a little afraid to get in, with him being in such a groggy state. Then again, he crashed into the side of your fucking  _ house  _ last night, so you should be afraid to get in a car with him  _ period _ .

But, you still had to get to work on time.

He closes the car door, you tighten the seat belt as tight as you can, and you two are off.

It is only a ten minute drive, so that’s good. When you pull up to your house, you don’t even bother fiddling with the lock, instead opting to jump through the truck-sized hole in the wall. You hear a  _ hiss  _ as you did so and scream. A soccer ball sized furball rockets out of your room.

“Was that a  _ fucking racoon _ ?” You ask.

“Yeah, looked like it.” Sans sighs.

You’re half tempted to flog him then and there but know the clock is still moving. You instead growl angrily, grabbing your uniform from the closet and dodge the fucking  _ rabbit family  _ that had decided that was a cosy place to sleep for the night while you do so. You rush to the bathroom, brush your teeth and hair and put on deodorant while fumbling with the uniform, and are done in a record 3 minutes. You make your way to the garage, fetching your keys and wallet from a tray and take a quick survey of the house. Everything looked in place, which meant no one had stolen anything. Yet.

With that thought you pace out into the garage, getting in your car and driving off. You wave to Sans, the blight of your life, and he has the audacity to give you a thumbs up. You fight the urge to flip him off and speed to work.

**Author's Note:**

> this was supposed to be a one shot x reader but i've matured since my x reader days and couldn't bring myself to make the characters fall in love with the wave of a hand. Maybe if enough people appreciate this work I'll add more parts and turn it into some wacky slow burn.
> 
> I want to emphasize I wasn't ever an active participant in the undertale fandom so if Sans feels characterized incorrectly compared to other undertale fanfiction know that I had no baseline just the basics I saw from my husband's playthrough of the game. If you have critiques to his behaviors or have an idea for his behaviors that I can use in potentially future writing I'll gladly take notes! My grasp on his character isn't solidified so let me know if you see changes that can be made to enhance the reading experience.


End file.
